Esdeath pushed through the front doors of Midtown High, stepping into the bustling main hallway. The cacophony of slamming lockers and teenage chatter filled the air, but as she moved forward.
Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Even a teacher stopped writing on a bulletin board to glance her way.
Her striking blue hair she stood taller than most of the girls her posture naturally straight and commanding. The hoodie she'd thrown on did little to diminish her presence—if anything, the casual confidence with which she wore it only enhanced the effect.
"Who is that?" someone whispered too loudly.
"Must be a transfer," another voice answered. "No way she's been here before."
"Maybe she models? Look at her."
Esdeath kept her face carefully neutral, fighting the urge to hunch her shoulders or quicken her pace. Instead, she maintained a measured stride, her eyes scanning her surroundings with calculated indifference. This was how the real Esdeath would handle unwanted attention—like it was beneath her notice.
She pulled a folded schedule from her pocket, checking the locker number: 247. Following the ascending numbers along the wall, she found it nestled between a locker plastered with band stickers and another with a small basketball keychain hanging from the handle.
The combination read 18-07-32. Esdeath spun the dial with deliberate precision, aware of several pairs of eyes still watching her. The lock clicked open on her first try, muscle memory from a life she hadn't actually lived guiding her fingers.
Inside, she found textbooks stacked neatly, a small mirror magnetized to the door, and what appeared to be gym clothes folded at the bottom. Everything organized with military precision—apparently, this version of Esdeath was just as methodical as the anime character she shared a name with.
She swapped out books based on her schedule, conscious of a group of girls whispering nearby, their glances alternating between curious and wary.
Esdeath was organizing her textbooks when a commotion erupted several lockers down. A lanky boy with brown hair stumbled forward, his arms failing to catch his balance as his books and papers scattered across the linoleum floor. The culprit—a broad-shouldered jock in a letterman jacket—grinned and high-fived his equally muscular friend.
"Watch where you're going, Parker," the jock called over his shoulder. "Maybe if you spent less time with your nose in books, you'd see what's in front of you."
His friend snickered. "Yeah, later, Einstein."
The two sauntered away, their laughter echoing down the hallway as other students stepped around the mess, some glancing with sympathy but none stopping to help.
The boy—Parker—adjusted his glasses with a resigned sigh and knelt to gather his scattered belongings. His face flushed with embarrassment as he reached for a physics worksheet that had slid halfway across the hall.
Something in Esdeath's chest tightened. The scene triggered a visceral memory—not from her new life, but from Mark's. The familiar sting of public humiliation. Being the outsider. The target.
Before she could think better of it, Esdeath closed her locker and crossed the hall. She crouched down and began collecting papers, her movements efficient and purposeful.
"You don't have to—" Parker started, but she cut him off with a glance.
"I know I don't have to." Her voice came out cooler than intended, but she continued gathering the scattered notes and worksheets.
As she reached for a notebook, another hand appeared opposite hers. Esdeath looked up to find herself staring into the clear blue eyes of a blonde girl who'd appeared from the other direction. The girl wore a simple black headband and a gentle, determined expression as she collected several sheets of graph paper.
Their fingers nearly touched over a physics assignment covered in neat, precise handwriting. For a moment, Esdeath froze, caught in the unexpected kindness reflected in the other girl's eyes.
"Here you go," the blonde girl said, handing Peter a stack of papers with a small smile. "I think these are yours."
"Thanks, Gwen," Peter replied, relief washing over his face. He turned to Esdeath. "And, uh, thank you too."
Esdeath passed him the rest of his materials, watching as he stuffed everything back into his backpack with surprising speed. Her pulse quickened as the names registered. Peter Parker. Gwen Stacy. Not just any versions—they looked exactly like the ones from the Amazing Spider-Man films. The lanky frame, the styled brown hair, those glasses. And Gwen—the blonde hair with the black headband, that confident posture.
"I'm Gwen Stacy," the blonde girl said, extending her hand to Esdeath. "Don't think I've seen you around before."
"Esdeath. Just transferred." She accepted the handshake, noting the firm grip. Smart girl, not intimidated.
"Peter Parker," he added, adjusting his glasses nervously. "Thanks again for helping. Most people just... walk by."
"Not everyone's awful," Gwen said with a pointed look down the hall where the jocks had disappeared.
As Gwen turned back, the morning light from a nearby window caught her face, highlighting the sharp intelligence in her eyes and the curve of her smile. Something warm and electric flickered in Esdeath's chest.
"Those eyes could stop traffic," Esdeath almost said, the words forming on her tongue before she caught herself.
"What classes do you have?" she asked instead, her voice coming out a bit rougher than intended. "I'm still finding my way around."
The unexpected impulse rattled her. What the hell was that? Esdeath had never been the type to blurt out flirtatious comments—Mark certainly hadn't been. Was that her? Or was it the "Lust" aspect of her powers working its way into her personality?
Gwen was studying her schedule now, completely unaware of Esdeath's internal crisis. "We have AP Chemistry together third period. I can show you where it is if you want."
"That would be... helpful," Esdeath managed, fighting to regain her composure.
Gwen tilted her head slightly as she handed back Esdeath's schedule, her eyes narrowing with curiosity. For a moment, she studied Esdeath's face—the unusual blue hair, the confident posture.
"You're... not from around here, huh?" Gwen asked, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of her mouth.
Esdeath's lips curved into a subtle smirk. "You could say that."
"your accent says otherwise," Gwen countered, her smile widening. "But there's something different about you. Can't quite place it."
The bell rang before Esdeath could respond, saving her from having to explain what even she didn't fully understand.
"That's my cue," Peter said, hoisting his backpack. "Thanks again for the help."
"See you in Chem," Gwen called to Esdeath as she headed down the hall.
Esdeath watched them disappear into the crowd, her heart beating a strange rhythm in her chest. She turned toward her first class, English Literature according to her schedule, and found an empty seat near the back.
As the teacher droned on about Fitzgerald's use of symbolism, Esdeath's thoughts drifted back to the hallway encounter. Her palm still tingled where Gwen's hand had touched it. The memory of those clear blue eyes sent an unexpected warmth spreading across her cheeks.
What the hell is happening to me? she wondered, tapping her pen against her notebook. This wasn't just appreciation or admiration—this was physical attraction, raw and undeniable. Mark had never felt anything this intense before, at least not from such a brief interaction.
Is this the Lust aspect taking over? Or is this just what being a teenage girl feels like?
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly aware of how her body responded differently now. The flutter in her stomach, the heat in her cheeks, the way her breath had caught when Gwen smiled—it was all unfamiliar territory.
I need to keep this under control, Esdeath decided firmly. The last thing she needed was her powers flaring up because she couldn't manage her emotions around a pretty girl. Whatever this new aspect of herself was—whether Lust-power-driven or just her new reality—she'd have to learn to master it, just like she would her ice abilities.
Esdeath's uncle barely looked up from his plate when she entered their small apartment that evening. The tiny kitchen table was set with mismatched plates—pasta for him, a portion waiting for her.
"How was school?" he asked, his attention divided between his food and the small TV perched on the counter.
"Fine." She slid into the chair across from him, twirling pasta around her fork. "Normal."
"Normal is good." He nodded, satisfied with the minimal exchange.
Esdeath studied him as she ate. her mother's brother—was a man of few words and fewer questions. Mid-forties, perpetually tired eyes, calloused hands from construction work. The apartment reflected his practical nature: sparse furniture, minimal decorations, functional rather than comfortable. A man who provided shelter and food but little else.
Which suited her perfectly right now.
"I've got homework," she said after a few minutes of silence. "Gonna turn in early."
He grunted in acknowledgment, already reaching for the remote to turn up the volume on what appeared to be a news report about rising crime rates.
In her small bedroom, Esdeath closed the door and immediately pulled out her laptop. The screen illuminated her face as she searched through local news sites, police blotters, and crime statistics for Brooklyn. Her fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, mapping out patterns, identifying hotspots.
A map of Brooklyn took shape on her screen, with red dots indicating recent criminal activity. Several clusters emerged—one particularly dense collection near the docks.
Esdeath leaned back, absently forming a small ice crystal between her fingers. She rolled it across her knuckles, watching it catch the dim light from her desk lamp.
"If I want control," she whispered to herself, "I need practice."
The ice crystal grew slightly at her words, responding to her intent. She closed her fist around it, feeling it melt against her palm.
Making her decision, she moved to her closet. She pulled out a dark hoodie and a simple black ski mask she'd purchased on her way home. Nothing fancy—just enough to conceal her identity. Underneath, she wore fitted athletic clothes that wouldn't restrict her movement.
She waited until her uncle's snores echoed through the thin walls. Then, with practiced silence, she slipped out her window and climbed the fire escape to the roof.
The Brooklyn skyline spread before her, a constellation of lights against the night sky. The air was cool against her skin, carrying the scent of the city—exhaust, distant food carts, the tang of the nearby ocean.
Esdeath pulled the mask over her face and drew up her hood. She extended her hand, feeling the power stirring beneath her skin—different from before, more controlled. Ice formed beneath her feet, spreading in delicate patterns across the rooftop.
"Time to see what I can do," she whispered, her breath visible in the night air.
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Gwen probably won't behave love interest because I like her and Peter in Amazing Spiderman
Also I won't be updating over the weekend because I have work next chapter will come out on Monday